Chapter 3 - Do Not Touch The Wiring
The gun did not move. That was the worst part. The guard behind me had his arm locked straight and his breathing was too steady, like he had done this before, and I could feel the heat of the bedside lamp on my neck. I kept my eyes on Mr. Moradi. He was still sitting on the edge of the bed in that black robe with the white piping, his tattooed hands gripping the mattress, his eyes wide on the cut I had made in the headboard.
The cream fabric hung open. Under it the yellow padding was split and the black boxes sat sunk inside with their little red lights blinking in rhythm. Thin wires, red and blue and yellow, disappeared deeper into the padding where I couldn't see.
"Nobody touches it," Mr. Moradi said. His voice was hoarse. He did not look at the guards. He looked at me. "Elena. Don't touch the wiring. Don't touch the padding. Step back."
I believed him. I had used up whatever seconds he had given me. My hand was still close to the cut, the small silver tool pinched between my fingers. The handle was warm from my palm.
"Okay," I said. "I'm stepping back."
I took one step, then another, until my lower back hit the edge of the bedside table. The lamp wobbled. I set the silver tool down on the wood beside the base of the lamp, handle turned outward so they could see I wasn't hiding it. It made a soft click against the table. My hand shook when I lifted it away.
"There," I said. "It's there."
Mr. Moradi nodded once, but the tension didn't leave his shoulders. He lifted his chin toward the door.
"Lock it," he said.
The second guard, the one without the gun, moved fast for a big man. He crossed to the bedroom door and turned the deadbolt and then the handle lock. The click sounded too loud in the marble room. He stayed by the door with his back to it, hands in front of him. The first guard lowered his gun maybe two inches, but he didn't holster it. He kept it pointed at the floor between me and the bed.
"Check the room," Mr. Moradi said. "Just look. Don't move anything."
I thought he meant search for someone, but there was no one else. The room was empty except for us. The big gold mirror over the dresser reflected all four of us, the bed, the open headboard. The wall sconces threw warm light up the marble.
The guard with the gun did a slow turn without leaving his spot. His eyes went to the mirror first. He studied the frame, the glass, the dark line where it met the wall. Then he looked at the bedside lamp next to me, at the shade and the cord running down behind the table, but he didn't touch it. He didn't touch anything.
"Clear," he said quietly. "Mirror's clean from here. Lamp's just a lamp."
The other guard nodded from the door. "Door's locked. Nobody in or out."
The red lights kept blinking. In the quiet I could hear the faint buzz of the lamp and Mr. Moradi's breathing. He rubbed his face with one tattooed hand, pressing hard under his eyes where the dark circles sat deep. He looked exhausted in a way sleep couldn't fix.
"You haven't been sleeping in this bed," I had said when I first came in, and now he finally answered it, though not the way I expected.
"I couldn't," he said. He stared at the blinking lights. "Three nights. I would sit here and I couldn't lean back. I thought I was losing my mind."
He didn't explain why. He didn't say fear or sound or what had kept him up. He just let that sit there. The guard by the door glanced at him, then looked away.
I kept my hands flat on the edge of the bedside table where they could see them. My apron with the lace trim had shifted when I stepped back and one side hung crooked. I didn't fix it.
"I'm not touching anything else, Mr. Moradi," I said. "But that padding was closed up. Somebody opened it and closed it again. The tufting was wrong."
He held up a hand to stop me. Not unkind, just tired.
"Not now," he said. "We leave it exactly like that. No one touches the wiring. No one calls anyone. We keep this room sealed until I say."
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The guard without the gun pulled a chair a few feet from the door and sat, facing the bed. The one with the gun stayed standing near the foot of the bed, weapon low but ready, eyes moving between me and the headboard.
My silver tool sat on the bedside table catching the lamplight. I didn't reach for it again.
